A Windswept Kiss
by EnjolrasForever
Summary: A forlorn 21-year-old Darcy meets the lively 16-year-old Bingley one London season and falls head over heals. Moderate smut. Hand jobs.


"Pleased to meet you!" he had said in his buoyant, exuberant voice, and that was all it took. The 16-year-old blonde boy, with a simple colloquialism, had captured the heart of a dark, shy, sullen young man from Derbyshire. Fitzwilliam Darcy, for that was who young Charles Bingley had been so pleased to meet, would never be the same again.

It had been a drizzly season, and London was not the place Fitzwilliam would have chosen to be. He hated the dark, dirty streets. He hated the cant spouted thoughtlessly at all the social occasions he was obliged to attend. He did not like strangers. New people made him nervous. He never knew what to say, but for the usual contrived greetings and uninterested inquiries after someone's family. So, much to the chagrin of his socialite parents, Fitzwilliam usually kept to himself. But Charles was different from the rest of polite society. Charles was _sincere_.

Dear Charles, with his clear, open face, could be trusted. Fitzwilliam felt that, when Charles smiled, he truly meant it. He never offered a compliment that was not deserved. He never asked after something if he was not interested in hearing the answer, unless, of course, he knew it would please you to speak on it. When he laughed, he laughed kindly. When he gave, he gave generously. When he spoke, he spoke the truth. Around Charles, Fitzwilliam finally knew what to say.

So they spent a happy summer side by side; laughing, talking, dancing, drinking, and running around at all hours of the night, intoxicated with their youth. At summer's end, Fitzwilliam took Charles up north, to Pemberly. The autumn was crisp and chill, and the great forest was filled with color. Many a lively hunting party galloped helter-skelter and punch-drunk through the woods, reveling in the hoof beats tumbling over the earth and the baying of the hounds, and caring not what game was to be brought home.

The two rode out, one evening after dinner, to the brow of the hill. All of the guests had gone home by then, and autumn was fading. A brisk wind picked up, nipping at cheeks and tousling hair. Of an accord, the young men reigned in their mounts to watch the sun sink down beneath the horizon. Fitzwilliam glanced sidelong at his young friend's profile, bathed in the warm light of the setting sun. Those pink cheeks, that gleaming golden hair, that lordly, delicate nose, those cherubic lips, and that pale, pale skin. Fitzwilliam stared at the boy's long white throat, and realized that he longed to kiss; to touch; to bite and nuzzle and _possess_. His entire being seemed to _ache_ with longing.

Without any real awareness of what he did, Fitzwilliam pulled his horse nearer Charles, near enough to touch. Charles turned his head and looked askance at his friend. Unswerving, Fitzwilliam took his young friend's hand in his own, and the two shared a profoundly communicative look. Blue eyes met dark ones, and suddenly all was clear. Darcy leaned in slowly, hesitantly, but at last their lips touched, and they became one.

It was awkward to kiss someone on horseback, but pleasing thrills still shivered up Darcy's spine as the blonde boy's petal-soft lips moved shyly against his own. The dark young man cupped his cold fingers around the blonde boy's equally cold cheeks. Lost in each other, they paid no mind to the whipping wind around them. After a small moment that seemed like eternity, Charles's horse moved slightly away, taking his rider with him, and breaking the kiss. The boy peered up through his eyelashes at his newfound love, blushing more deeply than the biting wind could force.

Fitzwilliam smiled sheepishly at his younger companion and, when Charles smiled meekly in return, his stomach somersaulted with the joy of acceptance. Charles Bingley loved him! Loved him! He felt as if he would burst with happiness! His delight fizzed like good champagne, and bubbled over into laughter. "Come on, Charles!" he cried, spurring his mount to a gallop, racing back down the hill.

The young men raced and whooped and laughed all the way back to the stables; then jumped off their mounts, and dashed back up to the house, leaving the horses with the stable boy. Before they knew it, they were leaping up the stairs in a house already settling down for the night, locking Darcy's door behind them, and tumbling onto the cold bed (which wouldn't be cold for long).

Darcy immediately locked his lips onto his young love's, kissing him deeply. Charles responded eagerly enough, but didn't seem to know what to do with himself. His hands lay awkwardly at his sides and he kept opening his eyes curiously to watch Fitzwilliam kiss him. When Darcy noticed that Charles was behaving oddly, he broke the kiss, and looked down at his windswept love, scrutinizing. "Charles, dear… May I take it that you are new to this?"

Charles was mortified. "I – I'm sorry! Was I doing it wrong?"

Fitzwilliam kissed his love's worried brow. "Oh, no, no, no! But you _can_ touch me, you know. I do _want _you to touch me. You make me feel as if I'm forcing myself on you." Darcy paused for a moment, suddenly worried. "If I am, I'll stop, I swear I – "

Charles took Fitzwilliam's face between his palms and fiercely kissed him, leaving him no doubt as to his willingness. The kiss lasted a while and, when the two broke apart, they were quite out of breath. "No…Will… I want this. It's just… I've never…"

Fitzwilliam felt that this was so endearingly adorable that he simply _had_ to kiss Charles again. He kissed him gently this time, sweetly. "Charles, Charles, Charles. I love you. We'll go slowly."

Sitting up, Darcy shucked his boots so that he could lie in the bed, and young Charles did the same. Still cold, Darcy pulled the coverlet over the two of them, and they lied face to face, fully clothed. For a long while, they kissed gently, nuzzled, and simply cuddled. Darcy found he very much enjoyed having young Charles in his arms, and Charles felt supremely content as well. Finally given the opportunity to worship that lovely, white neck, Fitzwilliam licked, sucked, and bit at it (Alas, not anywhere above where a cravat would cover, though he would have sorely liked to mark Charles as his own.); and Charles made small pleasured sounds, encouraging all the while. After another sweet kiss on the mouth, Charles laid his head on Darcy's shoulder, and took pleasure from his simple proximity. It was bliss to bask in a lover's warmth. "Will?" came Charles' voice after a time. "You've had lovers before?"

"Well…erm… when I reached my majority, my father took me to…um… a brothel in London. So I've, ah, made love before, yes, but I've never had a lover."

Charles absolutely beamed and hugged Fitzwilliam tightly. "So I'm your first! And you're mine!"

Darcy smiled furtively and stroked the golden head lying on his breast. They were silent for a while longer, and then Charles murmured something so softly that the older youth almost didn't hear. "I love you, Will." Fitzwilliam felt as if he would burst with affection if he did not act. As quick as lightning, he straddled his love and kissed him with all his might. This time, Charles knew what to do. He wrapped his arms around Darcy's neck and threaded the fingers on one hand through dark hair, pulling his love ever closer.

Their kisses became more heated and more frantic by the second. They separated only to breathe before plunging back into the depths of their pleasure. Unable to help himself, Fitzwilliam ground his hips into young Charles', relishing the friction. Charles gasped and bucked into the pleasure, eliciting a loud groan from his older lover.

"My God, Charles, you are so – " Darcy kissed the blonde boy again. "_So_ – " Charles kissed him in return. "So _good_ – "

Charles gave an impatient little moan and pulled his Will back into the kiss. Wanting to hear that pretty little moan again, Fitzwilliam rubbed Charles through his breeches. He was rewarded accordingly.

Breaking away from the kiss, Fitzwilliam looked down at his lover, whose cheeks were flushed, whose clothes were mussed, and whose golden hair was utterly disheveled. Burning with desire, he attacked Charles', beautiful throat once more, rapidly undoing shirt buttons to reveal more of that lovely snow-white skin. Impatient now, the dark-eyed boy nearly tore the buttons off Charles' shirt and, finally wresting it off, threw it unceremoniously across the room. When he mouthed teasingly over pert pink nipples, Charles threw his fair head back and positively _whined_ Darcy's name. "_Will_. Will, take your bloody clothes off! Now!"

Darcy could not deny his acute pleasure at being ordered around by his previously hesitant young lover, and he smiled into a quick kiss before hurriedly pulling his shirt over his head. Charles had clearly become more comfortable with this new experience, and reached out to run his hands over his lover's chest. Pulling Fitzwilliam close, Charles tried nipping and kissing at the older man's neck, imitating what had been done to him. Darcy groaned appreciatively, and captured Charles' lips with his own, reaching down to rub again at the younger boy's hardness through the fabric of his breeches. With a pleasured wail, the blonde boy batted Fitzwilliam's hands away, and reached out to fumble with his lover's buttons, breathing hard. After an awkward moment, the buttons were undone, and small, deft fingers were wrapped around Darcy's flush cock.

The dark one choked with pleasure. Muscles shaking with the sheer effort of keeping his limbs from going to butter, it was all Darcy could do not to collapse atop his lover. Meanwhile, young Charles determinedly palmed Fitzwilliam's hardness, taking up rough strokes. Through the heady fog of his pleasure, Darcy heard Charles mutter under his breath, " 'S Not so hard. Just like by yourself."

Brought more to his senses by the touching sincerity of his young lover's concern for his pleasure, Darcy once again covered Charles' pretty red mouth with his own, and reached down to unfasten the buttons of his lover's breeches. Drawing Charles' weeping cock out from within his underclothes, Darcy gave it a few quick strokes, eliciting a loud cry and a frantic grappling for any part of his body Charles could reach. Gazing glazedly down at his desperate young lover, Darcy decided to try something he had only ever heard of. Before he could change his mind, he took Charles' length into his mouth.

Charles, surprised, sucked in a loud gasp, and propped himself up on his elbows to watch, wide-eyed, his lover's ministrations. "Ah – Will, no," he said weakly. "You don't have to – "

The blonde boy bit off his protestations as Darcy sucked hard, and he was reduced to stifled cries and keening whimpers. The dark haired young man presumed this was a good sign. As long as he was giving Charles pleasure, he was probably doing it correctly. It felt odd… to have Charles'… in his mouth, heavy on his tongue. But, somehow, it also felt terribly right. It gave him a deep, hungry pleasure to see his lover fall to pieces, all because of something _he _did.

Darcy hollowed out his cheeks one again, and Charles spilled without warning into his mouth, shoving a fist into his own mouth to stifle his scream. Fitzwilliam gagged a bit. Seed didn't taste particularly pleasant, but it was alright because it was Charles. He swallowed with a slight grimace, but was content to have given his lover such pleasure. With the taste of Charles still on his tongue, Fitzwilliam moved to kiss the blonde boy's plump, wet mouth once more.

"Mmmm, Sorry. I'm sorry, Will. I did not intend to – "

"Shh, shh, shh, it's quite all right." Darcy gave his lover another languid kiss.

"But, Will, I – Allow me to at least – " When Darcy interrupted once more with a heated kiss, the fair-headed lad did not wait any longer for permission. He took Darcy in hand and pumped him quickly and firmly. Darcy was close, and it did not take long for him to spill his seed into Charles' fist, and all over his young lover's abdomen, with an uninhibited groan. He then collapsed onto his dear Charles, making more of a mess of them, and they lied there together for a long moment as they came down from their highs.

Slowly regaining awareness, Darcy stumbled out from under the covers into the cold air, and headed to the washbasin to fetch a wet cloth with which to clean up their mess. After they were clean, Fitzwilliam fetched dry nightshirts out of the wardrobe. (He would have liked to sleep naked by his love, but the night was cold.) Hurriedly, the two dressed for bed, Darcy stoked the fire, and then they hunkered down under the bedclothes, still warm from their lovemaking.

Enveloped in a cozy, blissful haze, the new lovers drifted off to sleep. Absolutely content, nothing more needed be said. There would be more love to be had in the morning, and more love to be made next night.


End file.
